within the tides-第2节
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that was all。 It was quite a party； sixteen people。〃
The Editor then； after expressing his regret that he had not been
able to come； wanted to know if the party had been entertaining。
Renouard regretted that his friend had not been there。 Being a man
whose business or at least whose profession was to know everything
that went on in this part of the globe； he could probably have told
him something of some people lately arrived from home； who were
amongst the guests。 Young Dunster （Willie）； with his large shirt…
front and streaks of white skin shining unpleasantly through the
thin black hair plastered over the top of his head； bore down on
him and introduced him to that party； as if he had been a trained
dog or a child phenomenon。 Decidedly； he said； he disliked Willie
… one of these large oppressive men。 。 。 。
A silence fell； and it was as if Renouard were not going to say
anything more when； suddenly； he came out with the real object of
his visit to the editorial room。
〃They looked to me like people under a spell。〃
The Editor gazed at him appreciatively； thinking that； whether the
effect of solitude or not； this was a proof of a sensitive
perception of the expression of faces。
〃You omitted to tell me their name； but I can make a guess。 You
mean Professor Moorsom； his daughter and sister … don't you？〃
Renouard assented。 Yes； a white…haired lady。 But from his
silence； with his eyes fixed； yet avoiding his friend； it was easy
to guess that it was not in the white…haired lady that he was
interested。
〃Upon my word；〃 he said； recovering his usual bearing。 〃It looks
to me as if I had been asked there only for the daughter to talk to
me。〃
He did not conceal that he had been greatly struck by her
appearance。 Nobody could have helped being impressed。 She was
different from everybody else in that house； and it was not only
the effect of her London clothes。 He did not take her down to
dinner。 Willie did that。 It was afterwards； on the terrace。 。 。 。
The evening was delightfully calm。 He was sitting apart and alone；
and wishing himself somewhere else … on board the schooner for
choice； with the dinner…harness off。 He hadn't exchanged forty
words altogether during the evening with the other guests。 He saw
her suddenly all by herself coming towards him along the dimly
lighted terrace； quite from a distance。
She was tall and supple； carrying nobly on her straight body a head
of a character which to him appeared peculiar； something … well …
pagan； crowned with a great wealth of hair。 He had been about to
rise； but her decided approach caused him to remain on the seat。
He had not looked much at her that evening。 He had not that
freedom of gaze acquired by the habit of society and the frequent
meetings with strangers。 It was not shyness； but the reserve of a
man not used to the world and to the practice of covert staring；
with careless curiosity。 All he had captured by his first； keen；
instantly lowered； glance was the impression that her hair was
magnificently red and her eyes very black。 It was a troubling
effect； but it had been evanescent； he had forgotten it almost till
very unexpectedly he saw her coming down the terrace slow and
eager； as if she were restraining herself； and with a rhythmic
upward undulation of her whole figure。 The light from an open
window fell across her path； and suddenly all that mass of arranged
hair appeared incandescent； chiselled and fluid； with the daring
suggestion of a helmet of burnished copper and the flowing lines of
molten metal。 It kindled in him an astonished admiration。 But he
said nothing of it to his friend the Editor。 Neither did he tell
him that her approach woke up in his brain the image of love's
infinite grace and the sense of the inexhaustible joy that lives in
beauty。 No！ What he imparted to the Editor were no emotions； but
mere facts conveyed in a deliberate voice and in uninspired words。
〃That young lady came and sat down by me。 She said： 'Are you
French； Mr。 Renouard？'〃
He had breathed a whiff of perfume of which he said nothing either
… of some perfume he did not know。 Her voice was low and distinct。
Her shoulders and her bare arms gleamed with an extraordinary
splendour； and when she advanced her head into the light he saw the
admirable contour of the face； the straight fine nose with delicate
nostrils； the exquisite crimson brushstroke of the lips on this
oval without colour。 The expression of the eyes was lost in a
shadowy mysterious play of jet and silver； stirring under the red
coppery gold of the hair as though she had been a being made of
ivory and precious metals changed into living tissue。
〃。 。 。 I told her my people were living in Canada； but that I was
brought up in England before coming out here。 I can't imagine what
interest she could have in my history。〃
〃And you complain of her interest？〃
The accent of the all…knowing journalist seemed to jar on the
Planter of Malata。
〃No！〃 he said； in a deadened voice that was almost sullen。 But
after a short silence he went on。 〃Very extraordinary。 I told her
I came out to wander at large in the world when I was nineteen；
almost directly after I left school。 It seems that her late
brother was in the same school a couple of years before me。 She
wanted me to tell her what I did at first when I came out here；
what other men found to do when they came out … where they went；
what was likely to happen to them … as if I could guess and
foretell from my experience the fates of men who come out here with
a hundred different projects； for hundreds of different reasons …
for no reason but restlessness … who come； and go； and disappear！
Preposterous。 She seemed to want to hear their histories。 I told
her that most of them were not worth telling。〃
The distinguished journalist leaning on his elbow； his head resting
against the knuckles of his left hand； listened with great
attention； but gave no sign of that surprise which Renouard；
pausing； seemed to expect。
〃You know something；〃 the latter said brusquely。 The all…knowing
man moved his head slightly and said； 〃Yes。 But go on。〃
〃It's just this。 There is no more to it。 I found myself talking
to her of my adventures； of my early days。 It couldn't possibly
have interested her。 Really；〃 he cried； 〃this is most
extraordinary。 Those people have something on their minds。 We sat
in the light of the window； and her father prowled about the
terrace； with his hands behind his back and his head drooping。 The
white…haired lady came to the dining…room window twice … to look at
us I am certain。 The other guests began to go away … and still we
sat there。 Apparently these people are staying with the Dunsters。
It was old Mrs。 Dunster who put an end to the thing。 The father
and the aunt circled about as if they were afraid of interfering
with the girl。 Then she got up all at once； gave me her hand； and
said she hoped she would see me again。〃
While he was speaking Renouard saw again the sway of her figure in
a movement of grace and strength … felt the pressure of her hand …
heard the last accents of the deep murmur that came from her throat
so white in the light of the window； and remembered the black rays
of her steady eyes passing off his face when she turned away。 He
remembered all this visually； and it was not exactly pleasurable。
It was rather startling like the discovery of a new faculty in
himself。 There are faculties one would rather do without … such；
for instance； as seeing through a stone wall or remembering a
person with this uncanny vividness。 And what about those two
people belonging to her with their air of expectant solicitude！
Really； those figures from home got in front of one。 In fact；
their persistence in getting between him and the solid forms of the
everyday material world had driven Renouard to call on his friend
at the office。 He hoped that a little common； gossipy information
would lay the ghost of that unexpected dinner…party。 Of course the
proper person to go to would have been young Dunster； but； he
couldn't stand Willie Dunster … not at any price。
In the pause the Editor had changed his attitude； faced his desk；
and smiled a faint knowing smile。
〃Striking girl … eh？〃 he said。
The incongruity of the word was enough to make one jump out of the
chair。 Striking！ That girl striking！ Stri 。 。 。！ But Renouard
restrained his feelings。 His friend was not a person to give
oneself away to。 And； after all； this sort of speech was what
